Loveless
by Batty Musings
Summary: In Grantaire's honest and quite inebriated opinion, the best part about Enjolras falling for that scruffy gamine was that the poor girl in question seemed to have no idea. [Modern AU Enjolras/Éponine—Frustration is the name of this game]
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** I am not even fooling with you guys, I just had to get this fic off my chest. I've written a couple chapters ahead, so I'll post one a day as long as I'm able. Heads up right away, I haven't read the book and so most of this is just crack. Sweet, delicious, frustrated crap. Also, since it's a modern AU at a university I just went the lazy route and used the one I'm most familiar with.

* * *

**Loveless**

**Part I**

* * *

The door of the coffee shop loomed over her like some mythical giant, testing the boundaries of her already quite strained nerves.

Éponine bit down hard on her bottom lip, trying to calm her racing mind, as it seemed intent on filling her with all sorts of ideas about the scene she'd be walking into. It'd been a week since the boys had started that failed protest on the steps of Low, and around that same amount of time since she'd mistaken declared her love for Marius. Before she'd been arrested. While trying to give him a head-start.

Oh _god—_

Gulping thickly, she quickly weighed the benefits and _considerable_ disadvantages of going in and found that hey, considerable disadvantages won. Again. Éponine turned on her heel and started to creep away. This was stupid, they didn't want to see her again, _he_ didn't want to see her again, not with little-miss-flawless—

She stopped right in the middle of her tracks and groaned. This was stupid.

Before she could change her mind again, Éponine raced back up the steps to the coffee shop and pushed the door open in one swift movement. The chatter that had been building before the door continued, as no one seemed to have noticed her entrance. Another bout of nerves struck her straight in the stomach, twisting and turning the already quite bruised area and reminding her that rubber bullets really, really hurt. Keeping to the considerable shadows of the vintage shop, Éponine could only just make out the conversation coming from the circle of men in the corner.

"Oh, come off it. You know you wanna ask, so just do it!"

A snort. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Heh, that's the marble man fer ya. When ya gonna admit it, already?"

"They have a point." The squeak of a pulled out chair rang through the café. "Uh, I mean, you've already been asking every day, so what makes this one different?"

"First off—you're delusional. All of you. And Grantaire, it's three. In the afternoon. Put the damned bottle _down_. Second off—even if I were to inquire about her, it's obvious that no one knows where—"

Éponine crept closer, trying to make out what the hell was going on, only to freeze as one of the men finally made her out from amongst the dark trappings of the café. His fierce eyes seemed to hold her in place as she shakily raised a hand and waved. "Um, hello?"

The rest of them turned at the exact same moment, as if on cue, only to stare, some in awe, some in barely disguised malicious glee. The latter made her pause and take a step back, only to crash into the formidable girth of a figure that had been standing just behind her. She gave a brief yelp as the mountain started to move, pushing gingerly towards the gathering with a delicacy that was at odds with his obvious strength.

One of the men, the one she'd long recognized as the nice one who spouted weird biology facts, winked and called out, "Thanks Bahorel! We can take it from here, can't we, Enjolras?"

The person in question finally seemed to tear his gaze away from her in order to glare at his friend, something Éponine was appreciative of. The way that guy looked at you made your skin _crawl_ with the unfathomable urge to do anything he asked, whether it be throwing yourself into the line of fire or out a window.

A seat was carefully pulled out for her and Éponine found herself clutching her vintage scarf—dug out of a donation box in all honesty, but still soft enough to hide her hands in when she got too nervous—and looking straight at a circle of grinning men and one noticeably snarling one; none of which the one she was looking for, all of which seeming to have the same thing on their minds.

It came out as a knee jerk reaction.

"I didn't do it."

They looked taken back. Éponine arranged her already hardened features into a glare and was pleased to find some of them recoiling at the sight. "Whatever it is you're mad at me for—I didn't do it. My friend can vouch for me."

Her friend was really her sister, as that was the way this scheme usually went, but seeing as how she'd been completely cut off from the family, she was rather sure no help would be coming from that angle.

The man on her left, who already smelled like an inebriated jackass, was the first to start laughing. The rest followed. Éponine bit down on her tongue to keep from snapping that that whole mentality was the reason they'd all been arrested in the first place.

Someone slapped her rowdily on the back and she flinched for a moment out of instinct before a loud voice said, "You're not in trouble—well, sorta. But it's not your fault—well…sorta?" He looked around for help, only to find the rest of them too busy shooting out their own questions.

"So, remind us of your name again?"

"Seriously, it's totally okay if you used sorcery. I have friends who use sorcery."

"Please tell us you're not still hung up on that other idiot, I've already had enough of breaking up fights between the two of them."

"If not sorcery, maybe voodoo? You gotta tell me the name of your supplier."

"Hey, what's with those bandages on your hand? I can take a look at it, if you want! Here—"

"You don't look drunk enough. Enjolras, she doesn't look drunk enough. Back me up here."

Hands seemed to come at her from all angles and Éponine resisted the urge to hyperventilate, unsuccessfully. When one grabbed her own hand and squeezed down painfully, she shot to her feet and inadvertently knocked over the chair. It fell with a clatter. A sudden hiss rose above the noise.

"Could you all just stop acting like total _idiots_?"

Her eyes fell on the speaker, who appeared to have commanded the lot of them by sheer voice alone. He rose slowly, staring at her in a way that made her want to _go-go-go!_

"Look, I just need to thank—"

His words fell deaf on her panicking ears and as the urge to flee overcame her, Éponine did what she did best.

The door slammed as she made her way out at a pace that was nothing less than a full sprint.

X

She made it four blocks before she froze again and let out a groan. She'd forgotten to ask—again. Éponine swore silently in her head that Marius was going to be the death of her someday and if a little curse or two happened to make its way out of her mouth, then screw _that_. She shivered a little as a swift breeze kicked up, suddenly remembering that her safety scarf was still on the grainy coffee-house table where she'd abandoned it. A smile spread across her face, slow and mischievous.

Bingo—_excuse_.

This time when she swept back in through the door of Café Musain, there was hardly a cower or even a flicker of the shell-shocked woman from moments previous. She took the scene in with barely a pause, only noting that the distressingly blonde one with the intense stare seemed to have given up on his friends and resigned his forehead to the close company of the hard wooden table, while one of his friends had picked up her scarf and seemed to be acting out a part from a play or something.

"Oh, _Enroljas-"_

She took three long strides and grabbed the offending cloth off of him, not really caring the way it had been tied at his neck. His trachea would heal. As the others gaped at her, Éponine let loose one of her fiercest looks, the one that would scare off even the most hardened of criminals, her father's accomplices or whatever.

"Hey—"

She sidestepped the obviously drunk man neatly, snatching his bottle of wine from his hand with a dexterity born of years of pick pocketing. He tried to grab it back, only for her to dodge neatly again and press her lips to the opening of the bottle, chugging the remains easily. Tipping her head back to gather the last few drops, it was with a gasp that she released the bottle and pushed it back into the hands of the drunkard, who looked awestruck.

Finally wrapping her dull grey scarf safely around her neck, Éponine shook her hair out and faced the rest of the group known as ABC Tutorial and said resolutely in a rasp that sounded like it was still burning from the sting of alcohol, "_Now_ I'm drunk enough."

There was a pause. The one she'd recognized earlier as Courfeyrac, or Coury, or something freaky like that, commented to the empty air, "I like her."

Judging by the slow, drawn out smile of the only man still sitting down, and who appeared to have gotten over his brief affair with the tabletop, the general consensus here seemed to be the same.

Éponine fought the inexplicable urge to grin.

X

Minutes later, Marius finally walked in.

Éponine froze in her chair, the cards almost falling from her hands as a man who'd introduced himself as Bossuet groaned to see her full house. She'd been trying to teach him to cheat, but he seemed to be horrible whether or not he had a sleeve full of aces. She rose suddenly, terrifyingly aware of the silence around her.

Her hands twitching for something to do quickly slid the cards into her own pockets, only to seconds later clasp around the ends of her hair in a nervous gesture she had to stop doing around him. She fumbled for words, feeling her cheeks redden with every passing second he just stared at her as if he'd seen a ghost. "Um, I've been meaning to talk—"

Someone interrupted with a drawled, "So there you are, Marius. And here we thought you'd been avoiding us."

Marius' gaze suddenly turned sharp, looking to some spot just behind her shoulder. Or wait—Éponine spun in place, only to let out a muffled _'shit'_ as she found herself face to chest with the blonde guy who'd been introduced as Enjolras by a smug Jehan, the latter of which who appeared to either be colorblind or unaware that his Christmas sweater had been made by the Goblin King.

One of the men groaned aloud as he took in the scene. "Not another one. One these days I'm just gonna let you two duke it out."

Grantaire pretended to looked aghast at the suggestion. "And let Enjolras ruin his pretty, pretty face? It's the only thing that balances out, well, _him_ and doesn't the poor woman have enough to deal with already without a tragically misshapen lover?"

Confused, Éponine attempted to backtrack again, only to find herself faced with a wall of crowding ABC Tutorial members who simply pushed her right back beside their now glaring leader. Éponine prepared herself to fight her way out, were it not for Marius' next words—"'Ponine, what's wrong with your hand?"

It was a perfectly legitimate question and she would have given her usual completely illegitimate answer, if the combination of the situation and her frazzled nerves hadn't caused her to just clutch the offending appendage closer and blurt out unconvincingly, "Nothing."

Removing himself from the crowd, Joly stepped forward to follow up on his earlier offer to help. Éponine shook her head again and straightened, trying to calm herself down before she accidentally lashed out at one of them for touching her. "It's nothing. Really. Just a couple bruises from the barricade."

It was probably the worst thing she could have said.

The chattering died down quickly, something that she was pretty sure could be counted as her superpower at this point, and Éponine felt a particularly pointed stare coming from beside her that she ignored. Meeting Marius' now piteous gaze, she stepped forward and repeated, "I need to talk to you."

He nodded slowly, once, looking terrified and guilty and oh crap this was going to go badly. The boys let them pass and she made for one of the corners of the café, one she knew they couldn't listen up at without seriously trying. It was the same corner she'd spent the last few months at. Éponine clutched at her scarf again, wishing that she hadn't already lost her hat during the protests. Sucking in a deep breath that she was loath to loose, she sat and finally prepared to explain everything to the man who had once been the love of her life.

This was going to go _so_ badly.

X

"About what happened—"

"I'mnotinlovewithyou!"

"That's…subtle."

"Huh?"

"Look, I know you're with Cosette. I _knew_ you were with Cosette."

"And that's…okay?"

"Yea, I guess. I mean, I just got caught up in the moment. Saving your ass and everything."

"So you don't have feelings for me?"

A pause. "No. Yes? I'm not gonna pretend it's nothing, but it's not enough for me to even bother anymore. Get it?"

"No."

"Of course you don't." A sigh. "I just wanna be friends again, okay? _I_ borrow your textbook every now and then, _you_ don't rat me out when it comes back with bloodstains."

"...Wait."

"Forget the last part. Basically, I don't want this thing to be a shit storm. And it currently is a shit storm. The shit storm needs to end, man."

There was a brief moment of hesitation before a bark of laughter rang through the café, and directly into the surprised ears of the currently eavesdropping ABC tutors. They all simultaneously looked towards the blonde man in the corner, who made a noise not entirely unlike a growl.

"Yes, I think I get it a little now, 'Ponine."

"Good. We were both acting like real idiots for a while there."

"Me, an idiot?"

"The absolutely _worst_."

Éponine broke into a wide grin and was happy when Marius did the same, even as the tattered remains of her stripped heart ached with the dull reminder of lost love.

X

As her head felt fit to burst, Éponine quickly excused herself and left the café with the promise to return tomorrow. Probably. She only started crying after the first couple blocks and was proud to say that she had almost completely stopped the moment she'd arrived to the shelter that was now her home.

'Participating' in the ill-advised and violent protest, even if she had been caught during the very beginning of it, meant that whatever chance she'd had to trying to scrounge up financial aid from the pockets of the university suddenly turned jack shit. Not that it mattered. Being kicked out of that very university meant that she didn't really need to bother with all that deadline and FAFSA and loan crap anymore.

Which was good.

Éponine sucked in the next wet sob that had been fighting to escape, reminding herself that a Thénardier was nothing if not resourceful. Although she was pretty sure it wasn't the same kind of resources that those men in the café had, seeing as how they had mostly likely been thrown out as well, only to have their parents subtly remind the university with loads of donations that you don't just _expel_ wealthy brats, no matter how much revolution they'd been proclaiming. She'd just drawn the shitty end of the socioeconomic stick.

Still.

Things would turn out fine.

Éponine refused to even let herself mentally voice the trailing _'right?'_

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_A/N: Sorry. _


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Supposed to have this up yesterday, but hey, that's what midterms does to you. Wished I could have worked in the talk with Cosette (because c'mon her and Eponine are meant to be total buds) but I decided to just keep this one short. Sorry.

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**Loveless**

**Part II**

* * *

For a SEAS student, Feuilly was surprisingly bad at calculus. Sure, he was a pro at finding the answer, but showing his work? Guy needed to learn that being homeschooled didn't mean the profs were gonna go any less easy on you for not using _their_ equation. Éponine snorted for what seemed to be the fiftieth time as she picked out another mistake in his problem set, hoping fervently that this guy never got to touch an actual engineering equation. If he was the future of the thermostat business, things were more screwed up than she thought.

Grantaire prodded her with the curved bottom of a bottle. "C'mon. Just a couple more shots. You're not even drunk yet!"

"I'm tipsy," she lied, twirling a pencil expertly as she mentally calculated how much trouble she'd get in if she jabbed it in his neck. Just a little bit. Growing up in the worst part of the city insured that she could guzzle alcohol like fruit punch at an age she was loathe to reveal, lest their stares of admiration turned to pity.

But this guy just didn't seem to get that when she said she wasn't accepting his drinking challenge, she seriously wasn't going to freaking accept his drinking challenge. (Even if that cultured wine he was sipping was barely enough to make a dent in the alcoholic tolerance she'd built up with gin and vodka found lying around her trashy childhood apartment). Either way, letting down her guard around this bunch didn't seem the best thing to do, as she still pretty sure that if she so much as _mouthed_ something wrong, the bubble would suddenly pop and they'd go back to looking through her. But this Grant guy still seemed to have almost inhuman perseverance.

"Five more shots. Two more shots. _Three_ more shots!"

Éponine was also starting to realize that none of them were particularly good at math.

"Grantaire, what time is it?" A smooth voice cut in.

The curly-haired man's eyes seemed to light up as he started, "_Advent_—"

A swift kick under the table cut him off quickly enough, and Éponine looked up to thank her unlikely savior, only to find a pair of dark eyes fixing her to her seat. Wishing even harder now that someone could district the man, she fidgeting in place while trying to avoid his gaze. Enjolras may have been the leader of the seemingly overgrown group of kids, but he was far from the most genial. Focusing on the question in front of her, she waited until he lost interest again or found someone else to go put on edge with his accusing stares.

There was a loud sigh that seemed to come from all corners of the room and Éponine looked up to find several of the men sporting similar looks of disappointment, as if they'd been cheated from a show. They'd been like this for the past three hours.

That settled it.

Something was going on here.

Even as Grantaire was sharply lectured on his ill-timed drinking or politely asked to at least refrain from hustling it to others, Éponine started to slowly rise from the table, realizing for the first time that more than a few of the boys were watching her do so. Laying down the papers gingerly, she tried to keep her steps casual, as the distance from the table to the counter was minimal and someone was bound to notice if she ran them.

A lifetime of conning with the family taught her nothing if not one simple fact—the service knew everything. Secrets just didn't exist in places where people worked. Whether it was a cleaning lady or a flight hostess, they were the people to go to when you wanted dirt. So Éponine only mourned the paltry remains of her wallet a little bit as she handed over an extravagant five dollars for a regular coffee just to have an excuse to talk to the server.

"Rough day?" she asked casually, knowing that empathy was always the best way to get into someone's good books. The server in question was a woman whom Éponine felt an instant mix of awe and contempt towards. Her dark skin and thick lashes only highlighted the seemingly ethereal powers of her light eyes, her scrutiny as obvious as a fortuneteller's half-lidded gaze, but her smile bright and alive with obvious compassion and interest.

Her voice seemed to only be an extension of that beauty, and so her simple "You really don't have any idea, do you darling?" was made doubly sweet.

Feeling the strange urge to grin along, even though she really didn't understand the joke there, Éponine introduced herself quickly to the small and curvy barista.

The woman responded with, "Oh, I already know your name. The talk of the café, really. You've really gotta tell me how you did it one day." She winked, as if it was a shared secret. "My name's Musichetta, but you can call me Chetta."

_"I love you Chetta!"_

The woman rolled her eyes in amusement at the voice and called back, "Yes, and when you finally pay off that tab of yours I'll start loving you too!"

There was no response.

Éponine found herself start to laugh softly, only to stop at the look at Chetta's face. She frowned. "What?"

Sliding across a cup of coffee that Éponine never even saw her make, Chetta said sagely, "If you really wanna figure out what's goin' on, try laughing like that around mister-marble over there." She gestured over the silent Enjolras, who appeared engrossed in his book despite the fact that he didn't seem to have made any advances in it for the last few minutes.

Éponine blinked, confused. "Huh?"

"Ooh, just go already!"

Chetta pushed her forward with a surprisingly strong arm, sending the slip of a girl flailing for a moment. Éponine managed to catch herself at the last instant on the table, letting loose a relieved sigh. When she looked up, she found herself staring face to face with the same dark stare that had sent her escaping only moments previous.

To her credit, she only flinched back a little this time, and was finally able to catch the quick flicker of almost-desperation in his blue eyes. Clutching her scarf for reassurance, Éponine said quickly, "I'm fine." He backed off a little, still looking skeptical, but then she just decided to go for it and grinned, hoping that the same technique that got worried professors off her back about her numerous 'accidental' bruises would maybe work on getting this guy far, far away from her.

Against all her expectations, rather than just nodding and returning to his book, Enjolras gave her a tight smile in return, dashing her previous thoughts of him having been born without a soul, but breathing new life into her hushed discussions with Jehan about the marble faced leader of ABC tutoring being an alien.

No one of this world had any right looking that beautiful.

X

Éponine would admit—in situations where she either had a gun pointed to her head (which came up more often than one would think) or when she was down to the last bit of stolen chocolates—that she was a bit of a romantic.

She used to claim it ran in the family, but when some people started having coughing fits at the thought of her father gushing over a rom-com, she'd quickly amended it. It ran in her maternal line. Probably. Her mother never disclosed much about her own family, whether or not she even had any, and so Éponine was left to her own devices in trying to figure out whether her grandmother had poured over trashy romantic novels to the extent her mom did.

Her own name was partly the result of this, although despite how horrible it had been in the beginnings of elementary school (when it was shortened to either pony, horse face, or your-daddy-shot-my-daddy) Éponine had slowly grown into it, glad she at least at something to call her own. She may have a little overboard on the romantic later in life, though.

Scratch that. The moment she'd thrown herself in the way of a bullet, rubber or not, just to give a guy who already had a girlfriend a head-start in escaping from security, she'd practically leaped off the damn board.

So she was just jumping ship now.

Éponine admitted to herself that even if she didn't really regret her actions (love was love, no matter how unrequited and totally stupid), she was going to put herself on the back-burner for a bit now. Not that it really mattered, seeing as how her prospects now that she was a broke college dropout was practically zilch. Sure, there were the boys, but really?

The mystery had been lost from every single one of those relationships right after the first game of 'never-have-I-ever'. Looking back, she really could have done with the mental image of Bossuet, Joly, and the apparently rather adventurous Chetta doing that stuff. Any of it. All of it. Éponine was glad she'd at least had the peace of mind to drop out of the contest before they'd brought out the pictures.

She'd joined a silently fuming Enjolras by the counter, rolling her eyes at the antics of the rest of the boys as their leader attempted to get some paper or another done. At least this guy was half bad, when it came down to it. Scary as shit, yea, but relatively harmless.

Éponine tried to stretch her hand over his arm to grab at the last dregs of her coffee, only to have him physically recoil from her, slamming his pricey laptop shut as he slid over a seat. Her face dropped as Enjolras quickly resumed his work with no particular attention towards the woman he'd just so rudely scooted away from.

Letting out a deep sigh, Éponine let her hair fall to the side as a curtain against his way too pretty face and sipped slowly at her already lukewarm cup, stupidly aware of the way he suddenly froze and let out a small noise that was probably one of irritation. She was pretty chill with a lot of things that went down in the Café Musain.

But the fact that apparently the marble prince of the ABC Tutors hated her guts?

Yea, that sucked a little.

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_**A/N:** Also major love to those who reviewed. You guys are the bomb and may or may not have reminded me to update this because dammit school is distracting. Or maybe this is distracting? Nah._


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Hey again, don't hate me too much. I have one more prepared chapter after this one (which is stupid because I ended up writing this from scratch cause I didn't like the next one) buuuuuuttttt yes. Hello. Hope you guys enjoy this (like seriously your reviews are the sweetest things) and let's have a prayer circle that I end up liking the next one by the time I upload it.

* * *

**Loveless**

**Part III**

* * *

Éponine _knew_ that they _knew_ she was cheating. The point here was that they just had to prove it first; something every one of them was starting to feel was nigh impossible.

Joly mumbled under his breath, "She's not even moving a finger, this is scientifically impossible."

Bossuet threw him a pleading look. "Then tell me how I'm nearly out a grand. _Please_."

Éponine grinned.

Oh, she was cleaning up _good_.

There was a small clatter behind her as something thumped quite resolutely against her chair. Frowning, she looked up to see the leader of the ABC tutors standing above her and gritting his teeth. He was slightly off balance, as if someone had pushed him, but Éponine couldn't see any intruders anyone. The only people standing behind him were Grantaire and Courfeyrac, who were looking way too satisfied to be mad at the guy.

Enjolras pursed his lips as he looked down at her.

"So. Revolution."

Somewhere behind her there was the sound of a face hitting the table.

Eponine spun, only to find that several of the boy were attempting to grab cards when she wasn't looking. With a warning glare, she snatched the offending deck from a gaudily ringed hand and slowly dealt another player in. She glanced at the still frozen Enjolras. "C'mon, grab a chair or something."

"I'd rather—"

"If I'm gonna have to discuss revolution I either have to be drunk or cashing in," Éponine informed him as she gestured to the pile of bills before her. She smiled innocently, surrounded by the tragic faces of those who dared oppose her and her impossible winning hands. "And right now, I'm looking forward to taking you for everything you have."

"_Can that be a come on? Please, someone tell me that's a come on."_

"_Definitely propositioning of some sort going on here…"_

"_Shush guys, I'm recording this!"_

Éponine threw another look behind her, pausing in confusion at the vintage looking camera suddenly in Jehan's hand. He smiled and didn't even bother hiding it, simply waving jovially. There was the sound of a chair being pulled back and soon she found herself sitting beside the one man in the entire café that didn't seem to want to put up with her. Éponine sighed. Lovely. At least she'd be cleaning him out in the end.

She dealt quickly and efficiently, throwing a smirk to those who tried to watch her hands for signs of cheating. Enjolras looked at his cards as if they had personally offended him, which was actually a far better expression than many of the others were sporting. Bossuet looked about to cry.

Éponine kept her face blank, up until the point where they all turned to her, expecting some sort of demonic look. At their insistence, she suddenly flashed her teeth in what could only barely be called a smile.

"Fold."

"_Fold_."

"Fold, and Jehan, please destroy that."

"Fold, and don't listen to him Jehan, I want a copy!"

"Raise, five dollars."

All heads spun to Enjolras, some looking at him in terror, others with an expression of gleeful satisfaction.

Éponine raised her eyebrows in surprise, but raised as well. He nodded and opened his mouth as if to say something else, but stopped. He paused a few moments and just looked at her as the room grew quiet. She wanted to twist her head and look at what was happening, but something in that stare kept her rooted and she didn't know _why_.

The café seemed to get smaller as everyone leaned in to hear Enjolras ask, "So…what had brought you to the barricades?"

_"Someone give me a knife, don't ask any questions, just GIVE it—"_

_"Chetta, darling, you might want to think about expanding your menu to something a little more alcoholic."_

_"Nah, just give it here Grantaire, and make it the good stuff. We'll see how well the marble prince handles himself when he's piss drunk—"_

_"I don't even care if it's a knife, I'll go for a particularly rusted spoon at this point—_"

Éponine raised a brow at their comments but secretly thanked them as Enjolras was forced to tear his gaze away from her to glare them into silence. He looked back with an almost wary look in his eyes, waiting for her answer.

She shrugged. "It was a slow day."

She wasn't about to embarrass herself with stories about just how hard she'd fallen for Marius, not now. Éponine revealed her cards with a flourish—a trio of the queen of spades, an impossible hand. Impossible because there'd already been around a dozen played already, even with the extra decks.

Enjolras didn't react, but for a slight thinning of his lips as he laid down his two pair kings of heart. He seemed more interested in her face than the money she quickly scooped up, his stare penetrating as he saw behind her casual response. Tapping a finger against his cheek, he drawled, "And I suppose that's what kept you until the end? Boredom?"

Even with the bandage off, her hand throbbed in phantom pain. Éponine met his challenging stare as she dealt the cards out again, although no one picked them up, all seemingly engrossed in the conversation. With a patronizing smile, she deflected, "And I guess you think that I supported the cause? A revolt in the university structure? A new era of leadership?"

That had gotten to him. Something flashed in his eyes as he raised yet again, seemingly not caring about what bill fell from his hand. "We were trying to help the students."

"The students, monsieur, don't give a _fuck_," Éponine spat, repeating his gesture as she refused to back down from his glare. She revealed her cards, more impossible aces, not even glancing at the string of low numbers in his hand before dealing again.

"Our cause was right and the people would have seen it in the end," he replied, heat brewing in his eyes, the same as she had seen in them in all those meetings. It only infuriated her this time, unlike the casual brush off she used to give to her sightings of the prince-like figure that reigned as leader of the ABC tutors.

She scoffed. "People only do what's right for _them!"_ If it hadn't been for Marius, she wouldn't have been there at all. These rich kids could protest and revolt all they liked, but for every one of them there were hundreds of other students that simply couldn't afford to go against the university in fear of being in her exact same position. Expelled, broke, no diploma, no financial aid, not even a place to sleep at night other than ratty women's shelters were filled with more people starting to give her dirty looks on account of her increasing regularity.

Éponine slammed her cards down, a royal flush, taking his lonesome king in with a pause of victory. Not unchanged by the argument, Enjolras looked flushed and about to yell. She took in more than a little satisfaction at the fact that _she_ had managed to managed to get him into this state. Grabbing the winnings yet again, Eponine opened her mouth to brag before realizing something.

She deflated as the anger bled out of her.

This was stupid.

Sighing, Éponine sat back down and looked over how much she'd won. She'd been correct in thinking she'd made off like a bandit—with this much, she could look seriously into getting herself an apartment soon.

"So was participating in the barricades right for you?" His quiet voice cut through her thoughts and Éponine was shocked to find Enjolras looking away to the side, rather than glaring her into ribbons.

It didn't keep her from snorting. "Oh god no." Éponine remembered her situation and the entire thing with Marius and rolled her eyes. Her chair creaked as she started to hand back the winning to the strangely quiet members of the ABC tutors. Some looked at her in shock. Bossuet looked at like she was a modern day Saint Mary. She continued talking, still refusing to look at Enjolras, "There's the right thing to do, then there's what's right for you."

Blinking slowly, Éponine unfolded the wallet in the center of the table, making it out clearly to be the property of the apparently _very_ well off marble prince. She groaned a little as she handed it over, feeling almost physical pain at the thought of parting with such loot. She couldn't even make an exception to her new 'no thieving from friends' rule for the guy who hated her guts. Having a newly found conscious _sucked_. Playing with her scarf with one hand as she looked longingly at the wallet the way some addicts looked at a missed score, she said without an extra thought, "And sometimes you just have to say screw it and do whatever the hell _you_ wanna do."

He gave her a strange look as he gingerly took his belongings back, his eyebrows knit in confusion, although Éponine had no idea over what. She still wasn't going to outright tell them about her thing with Marius. It had been a dumb crush, but it had definitely meant something to her at the time and she wasn't going to just ignore that. She'd taken a rubber bullet for the guy. Still stupid love was as much a reason to join a revolution as anything else, right?

There was a quiet chatter behind her as Grantaire turned to Courfeyrac and asked, "Think this is gonna make it any better?"

Taking in the way their leader stared at the girl as she suddenly grinned and suggested another game to the now terrified crowd of grown men, Courfeyrac groaned. "Worse, my friend. _Much_ worse."

* * *

Jehan gloated for days afterwards to Chetta about getting the perfect picture of the unknowingly famous pair, even though it could be nothing else but luck that had caused his camera to go off at the exact moment Éponine had been leaning across the table, grinning hard and dealing another hand, unaware that the gaze of a flushed and softly smiling Enjolras had been fixed solely on her.

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x


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N**: Plot, what plot? Augh, I meant to have this chapter be slightly more important in the (admittedly almost nonexistent) plot line, but then tumblr struck. And then I just needed to write banter. Lots of banter. And _hair_. Next update will have more relevance, I promise. Also, if you've got a hankering for a specific situation in this fic, just tell me the prompt, cause I may or may not be hitting a road block.

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**Summary**: In Grantaire's honest and quite inebriated opinion, the best part about Enjolras falling for that scruffy gamine was that the poor girl in question seemed to have no idea. [Modern AU Enjolras/Éponine—Frustration is the name of this game]

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**Loveless **

**Part IV**

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Éponine and Enjolras made a terrifying pair, even if Éponine herself wasn't quite aware of it.

It was fairly easy to see how Enjolras would be intimidating; with a mouth that appeared to have no other setting than 'scowl' and a glare that would make a nun wonder what she'd done wrong, he was easily one of the more frightening of the ABC tutors. Except for the fact he was so disturbingly beautiful that any nun stricken into silence by his stare quickly start to rethink her vows at the mere arch of his cheek-bones. The man was beautiful, even with his title as marble prince.

Needless to say, Comferre and Grantaire were all too happy to make fun of him about any and all things related to the subject of their leader's face.

Yet, Éponine's fear-inducing powers laid at a bit more of a latent level.

In fact, on the surface she seemed like quite a normal woman, if a little terribly shy. But the boys soon learned that the only reason she kept mumbling into her scarf was because if anybody actually heard what she was saying, they would likely piss themselves. More than a few times they found her talking to rough looking men lurking outside of the café, but as they prepared themselves to go assist—or awkwardly attempt chivalry that would most likely backfire in the case of Enjolras—the shady characters would pale suddenly before the slight, mousy woman and rush off as if they had the devil itself chasing them.

Heck, Chetta had mentioned once that she was worried about some gang activity nearby. While the ABC tutors had conferred on how best to deal with the issue in a democratic way, Eponine had walked outside and tied her rattiest grey scarf in an odd knot on the door handle. Over the course of the next few weeks, crime in that section of the city dropped to rate unheard off. Not to mention the rather strange trinkets that had been let on the doorstep from then on. She'd given the rolex to Bossuet, but just dumped the rest of stuff in Chetta's tip jar. To the ABC tutors, it was like their suspicions had not only been confirmed but initialed and signed with in her own chicken-scratch signature.

So when they found the gun lying inconspicuously in Éponine's bulky purse next to her chewed up pens, it didn't come as much of a surprise as it should have.

Grantaire blinked a few times, attempting to shake himself into soberness. When he became sober enough to realize that he would never be sober enough, he cleared his throat and said loudly, "There is a gun in my hands and if everybody values their lives they should probably take it before I become too drunk to forget it's not a party shooter!"

As everyone else fell silent, Bossuet grabbed the weapon and Courfeyrac grabbed it from him before it could accidentally go off. Éponine rolled her eyes and took it back roughly, which earned her a cringe and a unanimous clatter of _'no-don't-shoot!'_

"Who was looking in my purse?" she asked calmly, stuffing the gun in one of the many folds of her sweater. Comferre watched it go with a slightly curious look. No one else deemed it safe to answer.

The chime by the door gave a jangle as a man walked in. Grantaire pointed to him without hesitation. "Him. Kill him."

Enjolras raised a brow as he took in the sight of the cowering members of his groups. He paused a few seconds, taking off his soaked jacket, before sighing and looking over to Éponine. "What'd you do this time?"

"Nothing."

"There is a weapon of mass destruction hidden on her person so I think you should strip search her yes all in favor say—ah!" Grantaire rubbed his injured arm with great disdain as he grumbled lowly, making sure the glowering woman next to him heard absolutely _nothing_.

Éponine rolled her eyes. Babies. The lot of them. Her little brothers could take them with his hands tied behind his back. Even if she didn't really know where and what racket her little brothers were running at the moment. Aware that Enjolras was still watching her curiously, because his damn judging look was something she knew all too well, Éponine shrugged innocently. "They freaked out about something stupid." Another thought hit her and her eyes narrowed. "And I don't need to explain myself to _you_."

A groan rang through the café as the ABC tutors recognized the look passing their leaders face. With a curl of his lip, Enjolras replied stiffly, "Well, if you would refrain from _abusing_ them, then maybe I wouldn't be so concerned."

"Abusing them?" Éponine gasped, clenching her fists. "I—you have no _idea_ what you're even talking about. Just because you let them get away with whatever the hell they want—"

"Like hell I do," Enjolras cut in, his full lips curling into his signature scowl. "I disciple them as needed—not _scare_ them out of their minds. That's not how you treat people, _Madame_."

Joly winced. Ooh, he was playing that card. Chetta clicked her tongue and began passing out drinks, her hands moving quickly to also collect the bets.

_("Am I the only one who gets the feeling we're their kids?"_

_ "Of course we are. Now let me hear this out, I got fifty bucks riding that this is the week they fuck.")_

Flushing, Éponine raised herself to her full height. "I, _monsieur_, am no madame and would like it if you—"

"Gun. Down her shirt. Thought you should know," Comferre interjected with a sip of his overly foamy coffee. As both glares turned to him, he smacked his lips and added, "Her bosom is a thing of magic, I can't even see the outline."

"You were_ looking?_" Éponine looked about to burst.

Comferre smiled innocently. "Of course. It's a very nice bosom."

Enjolras intervened before more damage could be done, sighing, "Shut up before I let her kill you and yes, Éponine—"As his intimidating gaze found her Eponine frowned and jut out her chin stubbornly. "Do you even have a license to carry it?"

"Yes," she lied.

"Fine."

Éponine blinked.

As the café went silent, Enjolras sank down in a large armchair with a groan. Soon the sound of tapping keys rang out, just a bit too loudly for the space, as if the entire group were collectively holding their breaths. Éponine fumbling with her scarf, her fingers curling around the soft yellow material in an effort to convince herself this was real.

Slowly, she made her way over the chair, peeking over the top to stare down at the mop of blonde hair. Almost too carefully, Éponine asked, "Are you sure?"

Enjolras didn't even look up, still staring determinedly at the screen. "It's for your protection, isn't it?" She made a small noise of agreement, thinking of how skeevy some of the places she slept in nowadays ran. "Well, I can't tell you to give it up and if you think it helps, then there's nothing I can do to stop that."

She leaned further over the large, worn in chair, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "I thought you'd throw a tantrum."

"Don't have the right to."

"Oh. Thanks."

Another few minutes passed with Éponine resting against the back of the armchair, looking thoughtful. She knew well enough that he was seething on the inside, his ideas on gun ownership more than a little clear since the barricades had been transformed from a peaceful protest into an all-out scuffle against armed security and decidedly unarmed students. She wondered if she should push this a little more.

Try and get him to put in writing that he was bending on his ideals for her, just a little bit. Use it as blackmail when he eventually realized how ill-bred her background really was. At the last moment Éponine decided against it, reminding herself that he was gonna go back to thinking she was irritating soon enough. The marble _asshole_.

Pausing just a moment to admire his blond curls from the position she was in—they even _looked_ bouncy—Éponine figured that if his good mood held out this long, then her sudden whim was worth the risk. Tentatively, she poked a finger at the largest curl that seemed to stick out from the top of his head, wondering how he'd managed not to get them wet from the rain. He tensed up but she pushed further with a mischievous grin, running a hand through the mess and wondering if he broke any combs in it. A giggle broke through without her permission. "Your hair is a treasure, monsieur!"

"Uh, I suppose it is—_ah_—fine!" Enjolras spluttered in surprise, his typing halted. He didn't tell her to remove her hands from his person. Éponine took this as a sign that he wasn't about to give her a lecture on propriety and tugged a little on a particular curl that had caught her attention. He let out a curse and nearly jumped out of his seat. She stepped back with a wince.

"Sorry, couldn't help myself."

There was no answer. Éponine frowned. Well, now she was obviously irritating him. Too bad. Letting out a breath, she leaned over further so he at least at the choice to look her in the eyes. If he turned his head backwards, of course. No need to make it too easy on the man. The tips of his ears were an unnatural shade of red from his anger and Éponine made sure to speak quietly so only he could hear her when she said coaxingly, "You know, if you were a little less uptight, then _we_ wouldn't be at odds so often. I don't really _enjoy_ arguing 'till my mouth feels like falling off. Much other fun uses for the thing." A smile curved across her lips at the thought. "But…thanks for being in my corner this time. I guess."

Éponine gave his yellow curls one more ruffle as she parted, wishing he was this conciliatory and quiet all the time. It would make a lot of things easier.

From the sidelines, Grantaire leaned forward to take a peek on Enjolras. He burst into what he would later claim was an uncontrollable fit of laughter, only broken by the quick interrogation of Comferre.

"What? What was it?"

Clutching his sides, Grantaire just shook his head and pointed. Comferre took his cue and glanced towards Enjolras' face before grinning so wide it nearly split his skull. "Well, it seems like Éponine has finally realized the benefits of a positive reward system."

.

.

.


End file.
